Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections
by Ankh Paradox
Summary: During the summer holidays Harry is tormented by a beautiful spirit calling herself Abigail. But when her intentions prove to be less than pure it falls to Hermione to save the boy who lived.
1. I

**Note: I've gone through the story so far and improved on some stuff. The plot it a little better in places and I spotted a few mistakes I had to get rid off. I've also given the whole thing a kind of template so it looks a bit more organised. So all in all the standard should of gone up a couple on notches…**

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**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter One - Abigail**

Disclaimer: As you can probably see I'm not JK Rowling, and I do not own Harry Potter or any of the associated characters.

**H**arry sat in the back of the Dursley's car as it wound its way towards Privet Drive. It had been roughly fifty minutes since he'd disembarked from the Hogwart's express, it felt like hours. Glumly he wondered what effect his friends' efforts to improve his summer would have on Vernon and the others. So far it seemed that they were still in a state of mild shock. The car continued on its journey whilst everyone inside sat in silence. To Harry the whole affair was like watching some weird, disinfected, soap-opera through a black and white TV on mute. The events of the last school year, which had seemed so fresh and pressing a moment before, were already slipping from his mind.

Dudley's watch suddenly beeped marking the hour; everyone seemed to snap back into reality.

"So, Dudders how was school? Still going strong?" Vernon asked, sounding suddenly pleased. Harry caught a glimpse of his uncle's face in the wing-mirror. A few moments ago it had been streaked with heavy thought lines but now his hammy features were curved into a smile.

"It was okay." Grunted Dudley

"Excellent, excellent." Replied Vernon, still sounding happy, after a short pause the man actually began to hum. Harry began to feel increasingly agitated, his uncle's good moods normally paralleled with his bad ones. "Petunia, Dudley - I've been thinking. A friend of mine at work, a rather high up friend, has offered to lend me his caravan for the summer. Now, seeing as we've all been working hard this year, how about we take a break somewhere… The south of France maybe."

"But what about the TV shows I'll miss?!" Dudley half bellowed, half wailed.

"This caravan," said Vernon, "Has a wide screen satellite TV." There was another pause, Harry didn't like where this was going. It felt like the car had been filled with quivering static electricity.

Aunt Petunia craned her head closer to the drivers' seat. "Vernon dear," She hissed "What about _the boy?_"

"We'll leave him behind. He can't tell his _friends_ anymore lies if we're not there to be lied about."

"Not in my house! I've only just had the curtains back from the cleaners!" Her fingers began to pluck at invisible specks of dust on the dashboard.

"We'll lock the doors… limit his behaviour."

"It's not that I think it's a bad idea Vernon, but not all the doors have locks on."

"Easily solved Petunia, easily solved." The car swerved suddenly and pulled up outside a large hardware store. "Wait in the car!" Vernon barked to Harry as the Dursley's paraded towards the shop's revolving doors.

It was getting late into the evening when Harry finally recognized the homeward stretch of the journey. In between buying the locks and stopping at several other shops they'd stopped to buy polystyrene trays of chips from a roadside snack bar. Harry's legs still hurt from where Vernon unceremoniously deposited the scalding oil-soaked tray but other than that he'd been ignored. The car stopped neatly and before long the Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had disembarked with their shopping and Dudley's school things in tow. Harry found himself standing on the pavement with his trunk and Hedgewig's cage which, after his legs had woken up from the journey (he hadn't been aloud to get out of the car), he dragged to the front door.

"I trust you remember where that belongs." His uncle said as soon as he crossed the threshold. Wearily Harry dragged his school things to his ex-room, the cupboard beneath the stairs, and pushed them inside.

"I have homework; I'll need my things…" It was hardly worth arguing but he tried anyway.

"I'm sure your _friends_ will help you with whatever it is." Was his Uncle's tart reply; as he slammed and bolted the cupboard door.

Harry's room was much as it had been when he left it, but with slightly more dust - it proved to be the only room in the house that wasn't cleaned religiously by Petunia. Hedgewig gave an annoyed hoot as he moved her to her usual spot, other than that the room was silent. After a moments deliberation he flopped onto his bed, yawned, and feel asleep.

For Hermione Granger leaving Hogwarts for the holidays wasn't exactly unpleasant, she got on well with her parents, who were both dentists, and didn't have any brothers or sisters to bully or annoy her. But it was incredibly boring. Last year she'd ran out of reading material long before she'd gone to the Weasly's and, with even fewer books this year, she'd probably be out of new information by the end of the first week. She sighed, trying to think of some other way of passing the time. Perhaps she could write more letters, lots and lots of letters. She sighed again.

_"It's all well and good feeling bored but Harry has it far worse than me during the holidays, so I might as well kick this habit before it starts"_ She said to herself, in the nagging tone she normally reserved for her friends when they failed to hand work in.

"How was school dear?" Her mother's voice came drifting from the front of the car.

"School was fine… I broke two ribs and Harry almost died, but it was _fine_…" Sometimes she found it hard not to get annoyed with parents, for some reason they couldn't accept that parts of the wizarding world worked differently to their own.

"Well I'm sure it wasn't as bad as all that. Your teachers probably have it all under control. Now what would you like for tea?" Hermione gritted her teeth and pretended she hadn't heard.

"Who's Harry," Said her Father after a while, "Your boyfriend?" She huffed loudly and glared at the back of his seat.

"Honestly Hermione, be civil to your father. I thought your behaviour might have improved since last summer." Her mother pulled out some papers from a faux-leather briefcase and began to flick through them.

Harry woke and stared at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to get used to the darkness. It had been dusky when he'd fallen asleep and judging by the dry feeling in his mouth and the sleep in his eyes it was now much later. He checked the glowing hands on his watch; it was about one in the mourning. He turned over and lay still for a while, but he felt restless.

Deciding that getting anymore sleep would be pointless he sat up and listened. To his surprise everyone else seemed to be awake, the sound of Dudley's TV was floating from one direction and he could hear his aunt and uncle talking quietly in their room.

"Can you believe the nerve of these people? I phone them, willing to pay good money for a holiday and the best they can give me is 'three days time' I'd of thought, what with all these adverts that they'd be more reasonable about it." Harry could hear Vernon's heavy plodding in between words, his uncle was pacing as he spoke.

"I'm sure those chips have given me food poisoning… are you sure he was clean Vernon?"

"For the price he charged they should have been gold plated."

Were the Dursley's so worried about Harry and his friends that they were skipping the country for the summer? It seemed that way, although there was probably some other motive as well. But the whole idea sent a surge of glee down Harry's spine. He would have the house, Dursley-free, for the whole summer. Of course there were the large amount of locks and bolts that his Uncle had brought… but locks could be picked… Maybe he could have a party, he could invite Ron and Hermione, and they could buy-in food and spend the entire holiday blissfully ignoring problems like Voldemort, Umbridge and the Ministry.

Scrambling to his feet and pulling a folded sheet of paper, a vial of ink and a quill from his pocket he walked to the desk and began to write. It was dark, but if he held his head close to the paper then he could just make out the letters. To begin with he wasn't sure what to write, but soon he had a sizable letter addressed to Ron detailing all of his plans. The next letter, to Hermione, proved to be more difficult. _How, exactly, did you invite a girl to a party? _He stopped to think, something was wrong. If, a few minutes ago, everyone had been awake then the house shouldn't suddenly be silent. He stood up and strained to hear something, but there wasn't anything to be heard. Not even a snore. Slowly he crept out of the door and towards his Aunt and Uncles room.

The curtains were open and blowing slightly in the draft from the open window. Outside there was a thin sickle-shaped moon, it seemed larger then normal, and incredibly bright. He moved closer to the door to try and get a better view inside. Vernon was slumped against the wall, his thick neck at an odd angle. Harry felt a wave of nausea sweep over him. He crept closer still; he was now standing on the metal carpet rail below the doorway. Petunia was slumped forwards on the side of the bed, her hair only half inside a pink hair net. He stepped forwards willing himself on, reaching to his back pocket where his wand would have been if it wasn't still beside his pillow.

"Uncle Vernon?" There was no answer. "Uncle Vernon?" His uncle's bulk slid down the wall a fraction Harry jumped and stifled a surprised yell. Still, no one seemed to notice he was there. Harry felt cold, the gentle breeze from the window suddenly felt icy against his skin. He took a deep breath, fighting the will to run back to his room and grab his wand. If they were sick, if they needed medical help, then he couldn't waste time. Slowly he lowered his head towards his uncle's slack, expressionless face. The man was breathing. He checked Petunia in the same way, she too was breathing. Relived he wondered what to do next. _Should he try to wake them up? Could he wake them up? _He headed towards the bathroom, hoping that the small medicine cabinet had smelling salts. Half way there a thought hit him, Dudley.

Still keeping as silent as possible he slipped into his cousins lavishly decorated room. The light was out but the TV, which was broadcasting some kind of silent crazy static, bathed the surroundings in an eerie blue glow. Dudley lay sprawled on his back, his mammoth frame creating a crater in the double sprung mattress. Picking his way between the discarded school things and several weights Harry made his way to the bed. Carefully he lowered his head to Dudley's mouth; he was so close that he could see a drop of perspiration the tip of Dudley's pig-like nose. Holding his own breath he listened for his cousins…

"Fear!" the single strangled word from Dudley's lips was accompanied by a frenzied jerk, his entire body seemed to lift up just to the point of floating and then collapse back into unconsciousness. Harry leapt backwards, slipped on a crisp packet and met with the floor back first.

He pulled himself to his feet and ran for the door, whatever was going on he'd need magic to deal with it. With shallow, ragged breaths he reached his room and pushed open the door, which stood ajar. There, facing him was a pale-faced girl. Her feet, which were clad in black patent leather sandals, hovered just above the floor. She wore a dark blue dress above a white blouse and wore her pale blond hair swept back with an Alice band. Her eyes were large and round; they dominated her face and were a piercing shade of blue.

"Hello Harry Potter." Her voice was a strange mixture of a childish sing-song tone and a flat deadpan drawl. Keeping his back to the wall Harry worked his way towards his wand. He was about to reach for it but suddenly froze. He couldn't move - it felt like hundreds of bitterly cold fingers were running over his skin, pushing him just enough to hold him exactly where he was. "Hello, Harry Potter? It would be polite of you to answer me when I speak to you." Harry gulped.

"Who are you?" To his surprise she giggled.

"Oh, you can hear me. I was terribly afraid I'd done something wrong." She floated closer to him, he still couldn't move. She was about his age he thought, maybe a little older.

"Who are you?" He repeated.

"I'm Abigail, a big fan of yours. And I'm sixteen years old." It sounded like she was introducing herself on some kind of game show. Inwardly Harry's sighed the same way he did when anyone else told him they were a big fan.

"Well, Abigail, what did you do to the Dursley's?" He did his best to sound confident but something about her baleful eyes made him avoid her stare.

"Don't do that." Her lips pursed into a frown.

"What?"

"Talk to me like I'm some kind of idiot… I got twelve OWL's, ten of them were outstanding."

"Sorry… but please… can you undo whatever you did."

"I suppose so…" She ran a thin finger along the side of his head; it felt desperately cold, even in comparison to the weird force holding him still.

"What are you doing?" He tried to twist away, but couldn't.

"Nothing… just looking." She smiled suddenly, "I'll talk to you later little bird."

In a dizzying rush the house returned to normal. Harry, who suddenly found he could move again, fell backwards onto the bed. In the other room he could hear Dudley's TV blaring and his aunt and uncle were snoring peacefully after a few moments.

"What the hell was that?" He muttered to himself, reaching for his wand and holding it tightly.

"Simple enough little bird…" For a second Harry thought he saw her pale oval face reflected in the window, but when he turned no one was there.


	2. II

**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter Two - Five-Fifty-Five**

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in the Harry Potter books, they are the creations of JK Rowling. Furthermore I am in no way associated with JK Rowling, Bloomsbury books or any other Potter franchising machine.

Harry stared at the small alarm clock he'd salvaged from a pile of Dudley's old things, almost without blinking. Its broad LCD face showed the time in large green numbers. It was five-fifty-five in the morning and he'd been up since one. In the corner Hedgewig paced back and forth across her perch, perhaps she was uneasy because he was, or perhaps she too had seen the pale-looking girl. Someone grumbled in their sleep making him tense up and stare around the room wildly. His gaze settled back on the clock. It was six a.m. time to start on breakfast.

He showered and changed rapidly, knowing that his aunt would have a fit if she saw him cooking in slept-in clothes. He was soon dashing around the kitchen preparing the Dursley's morning meal. His hair clung to the back of his neck, wet from the shower, as he worked.

"You'll catch your death of cold if you don't dry properly." He swung around quickly, drawing his wand and pointing it at Abigail's fair haired head. She wasn't floating this time; instead she was sitting on the edge of the large breakfast table swinging her feet alternately. "Good morning." Was all she said, ignoring the wand tip that sat poised a few inches from her head.

"What do you want?" Without taking his eyes off her Harry reached behind him to move the frying pan from the heat, the metal on the handle felt cold and clammy against his skin.

"I think I'll get you a towel." She said absently, brushing past his raised wand arm and disappearing up the stairs. Almost as soon as she'd gone the fat in the frying-pan began to hiss and bubble again. Harry poked the bacon dubiously, at least it looked cooked. While he waited for the toast he filled three tall glasses with orange juice and set them on the table. Condensation suddenly misted across the glass in spiralling patterns. He looked around, knowing what to expect this time. He spun around slowly but saw no one, then, just as he was about to turn back he felt someone blowing on the back of his neck.

"I know you're there." He checked that his wand was still holstered in his pocket whilst trying to look normal.

"I know you know." She giggled, it sounded creepy. Harry turned to face her, but there wasn't anyone to face. Behind him someone blew on his neck.

"I don't have time for this."

"Why not!?" He spun quickly to face her, but it didn't look like she was planning to disappear again. She looked rather annoyed.

"I have to make breakfast for my aunt and uncle." Abigail but her hand's on her hip's and gave him a stony glare with her round blue eyes.

"Here's your towel Harry Potter." She held it at arms length, as though it were suddenly offensive and dropped it onto the table before vanishing.

He glanced at the clock; he'd wasted far too much time. Grabbing the toast out from under the grill he began to rush. He placed the first plate on the table just as Vernon entered. To Harry's surprise his uncle wasn't dressed for work, instead he was wearing a short sleeved shirt and shorts which showed off his flabby legs.

"Don't you have work?" He asked, he would have sounded more puzzled but after Abigail's two 'visits' he was already about as confused as he could possible.

"Phoned them yesterday and took the time off, there's enough work to do at home." His uncle's eyes narrowed suddenly. "What do you care anyway? Hoping I won't have time to batten-down the house before we leave? I assure you - the only rooms you'll get your paws on will be your own and the bathroom."

"I'll need to cook food." Harry argued; he could suddenly imagine being locked inside the house for the entire summer. Vernon nodded to a plastic bag on the work-top before delving into his breakfast. Harry twitched the bag open, inside was a gas-powered camping stove, two tins of camping gas and five packets of ready-to-go pancake mix.

"See," Said his uncle from behind the morning paper, "you've got all you need." At that point Petunia entered, closely followed by a bleary eyed Dudley. Harry dished out their breakfasts and they ignored him for the rest of the meal.

It had just gone ten 'o' clock when Hermione's mother knocked on her bedroom door.

"I really think it's time you got up… now 'Mione."

"I'm already awake." Came a voice from inside, in truth she'd been awake since seven.

"Well come and have some breakfast, I'm sure you don't eat enough half the time." Hermione sighed and slipped a sheet of paper into the book she'd been reading to mark her place.

"Okay, I'll be down in a moment."

"No you wont, you'll be down now." Hermione sighed again, her mother probably wanted to make sure she ate something before leaving for work.

"O-K Mother."

Five minutes later she entered the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee from the machine. Pulling up a chair she sat at the table and added milk to her drink a bit at a time, watching the patterns it made on the coffees dark surface.

"Hermione would you please hurry up."

"There's nothing to eat." She took a long sip from the drink, already anticipating her mothers reply.

"There's fruit on the side and bread in the bread bin. Honestly! I hope you're not this awkward at school." Hermione glared at the wooden fruit bowl before getting up and taking two apples. Her father walked past and patted her head.

"Say goodbye to your mother 'Mione."

"Goodbye to your mother… and don't call me 'Mione." Giving her a smile and a wave each her parents left for work, leaving her alone with the house. What people didn't realize, she thought to herself, is that behaving in school is one thing, you had to if you wanted good grades, but behaving at home was different.

Harry stood at the sink, eating a slice of toast with one hand and washing the dishes with the other. The Dursley's had spent especially long over breakfast this mourning. Mostly due to Petunia explaining about the paper weight she'd one as third prize in the 'Bi-Monthly Cross-wording Handbook's" prize word-a-thon. Harry found it quite amusing really, the only reason she'd started buying the book was because one of their neighbors had won the Christmas prize last year and got their picture in the local paper. There was silence for a moment, it seemed that they'd run out of conversation.

"What-is-that-thing-doing-on-my-table!" His aunt shrieked in one breath. Harry turned to see her pointing to the towel Abigail had fetched him.

"My hair was wet." He muttered, trying to make it sound as innocuous as possible.

"Do you really expect us to eat of a table that has had your dirty laundry draped across it?!" He resisted the urge to point out that they'd already eaten. "Well, what are you standing there for? Get rid of it - and wash the table." He could have always hinted at his friends warning's but he thought he'd save that trump-card for when he really needed it. He'd probably have ended up washing the table anyway; towel or no towel.

"Well come on Dudders, let's leave your aunt to her house work - there's DIY to be done." Dudley looked up from the television guide.

"Can I use the drill dad?" His piggy eyes were lit up with a deviant glee reserved for power tools, fireworks and chasing down Harry.

"I don't see why not." Said Vernon, he got up and left the room followed by Dudley.

Harry looked at the gleaming, newly washed table, and it really did gleam - he'd spent two hours scrubbing its wooden surface. He was beginning to think that it didn't matter whether the Dursley's made him do his chores or not, he still ended up doing them. He'd been drudging for them for so long that it now felt strange and alien not to. The sound of drilling drifted across the house, accompanied by the occasional chinking sound of metal on metal. Harry tiptoed out into the hallway to see how Vernon and Dudley's 'DIY' was progressing. Every door leading up to where they were now working had not one, but two heavy duty locks along with a thick bolt fastening it to the floor.

"What are you looking at?" Harry, who was leaning precariously around a corner jumped at the sudden voice. He flailed his arms wildly to stop from falling over and turned to see Abigail at the far side of the kitchen.

"Hi." He said rather sourly. Rather than drawing his wand he watched her warily.

"You know, I'd of thought that the boy who lived would have had a more interesting life." She came out from behind the table and he could see that she was floating again, her shoes just skimming the floor.

"Would have had?" Harry's hand moved closer to his wand, he looked like a gunslinger sizing up his opponent. "Don't talk about me like I'm dead."

"Sorry, it's just, well; it is so very hard to tell sometimes." She put her head on one side and looked at him more closely for a moment. "You're not scared of me are you?" Her gaze fell on his wand-hand which was inching closer and closer to his wand.

"No."

"I think you are."

"I'm not."

"Well either way, you shouldn't be." She landed with a click of her heals and began to walk towards him. As she got closer she ran a finger over the table's damp surface leaving a trail of frost behind. "Because." She took another step. "I'm." And another. "Not," another, "very" another - "scary." As she said the last word she leant forwards and kissed him lightly on his cheek. It felt like he'd been plunged into an icy lake in the middle of December.

Dudley walked into the kitchen, swinging the cordless drill in one hand whilst whirring it tunelessly. He got as far as the fridge and then noticed Harry, standing and looking dumbstruck.

"What's up with you?" He asked, while pointing a podgy finger accusingly. "You on drugs or something?" Harry gave him a dirty look, and felt rewarded when his cousin looked a little nervous. There was an untrustworthy silence between them. Harry could almost see the cogs whirring between Dudley's ears, weighing up the situation.

"Dad! Harry looks weird and is on drugs!" There was a moment's pause from the hallway where Vernon was working.

"He's weird all the time Dudley… and don't use that 'd' word, the neighbours might hear you." Dudley shrugged stupidly, opened the fridge and balled a handful of miniature cheese snacks in his unoccupied hand. Despite what had just happened with the strange girl Harry smiled mockingly at Dudley, who turned and walked out. Speaking of the strange girl, where was she? "Oh, and you boy! Go to your room!" Vernon added as an after thought.

"What for?!" Pleaded Harry.

"Not being normal." Swearing under his breath Harry marched up the stairs, taking the opportunity to see how far his uncles 'reinforcements' had progressed.

Hermione sat in the middle of her living room. Around her were the contents of her school trunk, which she was sorting it into piles. Beside her was an old clipboard with a neatly drawn out list clipped to it. The list was divided into three columns: will need, might need and won't need. She picked up her knitting needles, which had a ball of wool wrapped around them. Pursing her lips slightly she added them to the 'will need' pile and made a note of it on the paper. Crookshanks, who had been loitering in the shadows behind the door promptly pounced and began to unravel to wool. Next she began to flick through a pile of loose parchment, putting most of it into 'won't need'. Something caught her eye, the piece of paper she was currently looking at had _'note to self, phone Harry' _scrawled across it.She turned it over - written across the back was Harry's phone number. Smiling a little she folded it and slipped it into her pocket for safe keeping.

Harry sat in his room thumbing through a defence against the dark arts book which was left over from his first year at Hogwarts. He'd of liked something more substantial but all of his recent books were locked beneath the stairs. So far he hadn't found anything that remotely described Abigail. Rubbing his eyes he set the book down and picked up the letter he'd written to Ron the night before. He scanned it quickly, there were a few spelling mistakes but Ron would get the gist of it easily enough.

"Up to sending a letter to Ron?" He asked Hedgewig who was dozing quietly. The owl blinked at him and fluffed her feathers as he went through the rigmarole of fastening the parchment for a safe flight. Soon he was watching her speed into late afternoon sky.


	3. III

**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter Three - Naïve**

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Disclaimer - I'm not, in anyway, a part of the Harry Potter franchise. The characters in the books are the work of JK Rowling.

Harry yawned loudly and stretched out his arms before adding the finishing touches to his annual 'time left until Hogwarts' chart. He'd added far more detail this year, using it as a way of spending the time until the Dursley's departed on their holiday. He wasn't much of an artist he decided, but he'd still done a good job on the large picture of a broomstick chasing down the snitch hidden in the bottom-left corner. The broom needed a rider, but he wasn't sure who, or what, so he thought he'd leave that part until later.

"Does my little bird like to fly?" Instinctively he reached for his wand, which he seemed to be doing rather a lot lately.

"Hello again Abigail." He did his best to sound as fed-up as possible, wondering if she'd catch a hint and go away.

"Were you looking for this?" He left the chair and walked to the other side of the room, wanting to keep as far away from her as possible after what had happened earlier. She was gently spinning his wand around her willowy fingers. "Wasn't that a little risky?" She admonished, "Turning your back on an armed stranger?"

"I doubt you can use it, you're not exactly human." As he spoke his eyes flickered towards the door. It was shut fast.

"I doubt I'd want to use it anyway. The thing you'll find about most wizards," she said, sitting herself in his vacated seat. "Is that they depend on their wands far too much. They can't do the most basic of spells without them, and on top of that they need to carry around all kinds of cauldrons, books and other paraphernalia." Harry wondered whether he was supposed to shout 'here, here' or something similar - but she carried on talking. "Why, it's completely impractical and ridiculous! And it wastes so much time - but all most wizards seem to do is worry about time!" She stood up again, adding more force to her words. "Why, if I wanted to kill you Harry Potter I wouldn't fool around with a wand and _wizarding_ magic. If I wanted to, I could freeze you to the spot, starve your senses till they screamed and then slit your throat with a finger nail." With each word she floated a little higher off the floor. Harry took a step back, but found that there was a very solid wall behind him. He didn't like the way her hair was suddenly stirring in a non-existent breeze. Or the way her eyes glinted like azure knives. "Oh dear! You don't think I'd actually kill _you_? Do you?" Suddenly she was sitting in the chair again smiling a delicate knowing smile.

"No," Harry spoke with a confidence he didn't feel "Of course not."

"I like you Harry Potter and I'm not going to kill you… But you're a terrible liar. Never mind though, we'll have time to work on it. " She vanished with a small wave.

Behind him the door burst open; the heavy wood caught him on the shoulder and sent him sprawling onto the floor. In the doorway stood Vernon, his face the colour of molten raspberries. His uncle flailed his head from left to right and back again, until he realized that the person he was looking for was the cringing shape on the floor.

"Get up!" He barked, "Your aunt has been yelling for you for the last half-hour. I suppose you were sleeping? You could at least have the decency to use the bed we provided you with!" Harry scrambled up, wincing as he flexed his injured shoulder, Vernon knew very well that he'd hit him with the door. Slowly he followed his uncle downstairs. He didn't like to admit it but he was shaken and hurting far more than he should be. When he reached the kitchen he found his aunt and Dudley already sitting at the table. There was a chair for him on the opposite side to them, he felt like he was entering a job interview.

Hermione lay on her stomach idly kicking her feet against the end on the mattress. In front of her she had Harry's phone number and the cordless phone from downstairs. She keyed in the area code and then the first five digits, her finger hovering above the sixth. Tentatively she wondered what would happen if it wasn't Harry who answered, but one of his relatives. What would she say to them? Would they be mad? Would they even speak? They might well hang-up as soon as they discovered who she was.

"Hermione dear, we're home." Her mother's voice floated from downstairs. Sighing she pressed the cancel button and the line went dead.

"Hermione?"

"Yes mother you're home." She heard footsteps on the stairs and stuffed the paper with Harry's number written on it beneath her pillow for safe keeping. After a moments thought she stuffed the phone under there too, they'd probably just have a go at her for running-up long phone bills if they saw it.

"Hermione? Oh there you are." Her mother rounded the door and smiled wearily at her. "You haven't been reading all day have you? Especially not in this light - you'll ruin your eyes." She opened the powdery lilac curtains and one of the windows.

"You didn't knock… and I like the curtains closed, it makes everything look blue."

"Sorry dear, would you like me to go out and come back in again?" She took a step towards the door.

"That's not funny." Her mother looked a little crestfallen and Hermione felt a little guilty, she was, after all only trying to help.

The Dursley's glowered at Harry across the table's length, they weren't people to be kept waiting. He noticed the pad of paper and pencil lying in front of him, Petunia inclined her head towards it slightly. He picked up the writing tools and wondered what was about to happen.

"We're setting some rules for you to live by while we're away." Vernon said adopting a business like manner. Petunia carried on glaring and Dudley pulled a packet of crisps from his pocket that he burst open and began to eat greedily. "Make a note of them. Dudley, say your ideas first." Harry's cousin liked the salt and grease from his fingers and eyed him contemptuously. (He probably didn't know the meaning of the word but it summed his expression up perfectly.)

"First," He said "No going in my room."

"You have locks for that." Harry pointed out, but he wrote it anyway, wanting to get the whole thing - which to him seemed ridiculous, out of the way.

"Second - No eating any of my food from the freezer." Harry scribbled and wondered if they'd put a lock on the oven and microwave.

"Uh… next - Don't touch any of my post." Dudley seldom got any letters so it wasn't really important, but it got scribbled down. His cousin squeezed himself out of his chair and walked towards the living room, leaving the now-empty crisp packet on the table.

"Petunia?" Vernon prompted.

"No magic, no talking to the neighbours and no _others_ in the house… especially girls." His aunt snapped. Harry wasn't sure why she'd included the no girls' part, although he got the idea that she mistrusted witches even more than wizards. No doubt because of his mother. He added the items to his list and looked up at his Uncle.

"Right," said Vernon gruffly. "And I want this written word perfect. - No using the normal post to send letters. No harbouring virulent birds… other than the one you already have. As of tomorrow the phone will only take incoming calls - write to your friends and tell them that if they want to speak to you they'll have to foot the bill. No leaving the house for more than three hours at a time. - For God's sake write in a straight line. - No dement'os (Harry wrote _dementors_) or whatever you called them. No being weird in view of the neighbours..." Vernon stopped speaking for a moment; he was red in the face but seemed to be enjoying himself. Petunia handed him a glass of water which he gulped. "You will clean the house every day and, finally, no telling your lot where we've gone. We want a nice peaceful holiday." Vernon stood and walked out of the room, he came back holding his and Petunia's coats. "We're eating out tonight - there's half a cabbage in the fridge don't eat all of it."

As the Dursley's departed Harry remained in his seat, glaring angrily at the paper in front of him. He stared for so long that red spots began to appear on the edge of his vision. Slowly the paper began to smoke, then crumple, then burst into flames. Harry scraped up the charred remains and threw them into the bin, he felt a lot better.

"Poor, poor Harry." Abigail appeared beside him. He didn't bother to react, there didn't seem to be much point. "I'll fetch you a glass of water." A glass shot from the cupboard, raced across the worktop and landed beneath the tap, which turned on and off by itself. The glass then moved slowly and set itself down on the table. Harry sipped it cautiously.

"Uh… Thanks." He watched over the glasses rim.

"Is your shoulder painful?"

"Not really I've done worse playing quiditch." She pulled up a chair next to him and sat down.

"Tell me about quiditch, and Hogwarts, and yourself." She smiled reassuringly at him; her dark-red lips a stark contrast to her pale face.

"Why." He asked, draining the glass.

"I'm interested." Harry looked across at the strange girl. She didn't seem remotely dangerous, and yet earlier she'd been ranting about how easy it would be to kill him. And so, he sat, doing his best to ignore the long bruise forming on his shoulder, and told her about himself. She listened happily, laughing when he did and looking forlorn when he mentioned the darker parts of his history.

Hermione sat at the dinner table and pushed her finished meal to one side. She'd spent most of the early evening telling her mother about school in more detail and had even helped with the tea. _'I'm going soft,'_ she thought to herself.

"You remember that dentist's convention we went to a few years ago?" Her father asked. "The one in Scotland?" She nodded, she did remember. It had been one of the most boring events she'd ever attended - and the other children hadn't exactly been the best company - although she had only been eight at the time.

"Well, your mother and I were thinking of going again."

"Can I stay here? - I'll be good." Her mother looked over from the washing up.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea 'Mione." there was a long silence.

"Can we talk about this later?" She asked, pedalling for time to think up a decent excuse. Her father nodded.

She thought deeply as she sat on the edge of her bed. She was old enough to be left alone, she was responsible and clever - but how could she make her parents see that? They still saw her as their little 'Mione Granger. She shifted on the bed, there was something digging into her leg. She moved over to reveal the phone aerial sticking out from beneath the pillow. Harry was good at planning his way out of situations like this - she could always give him a call. And, she supposed, if the wrong person answered she could always pretend she'd dialed a wrong number. Pulling out the piece of paper she tapped in the numbers quickly.

Harry stood leaning against the fridge. He was holding a can of beer; Abigail had fetched it for him, though he wasn't sure from where. It was nice he decided - it was nice having someone to talk to and share a joke with. They were laughing now, he'd been telling her about the time Fred and George had been testing their joke-products on first years. Lying on the worktop was a thick wooden chopping board; someone had put a carving knife across it to dry. Abigail floated over to it whilst Harry took another sip of beer.

"They really are vile to you, aren't they? - The Dursley's I mean." She ran a finger along the blade, leaving a trail of chilled condensation.

"I get by." Said Harry shrugging.

"If you like," She held the knife out innocently "I could kill them for you."

"No thanks." He sipped from the beer again, "but thanks for the offer." He laughed and took a long swig, watching his distorted reflection bend up to meet him on the metal of the can.

"Think about it Harry, it would be so simple, they come home - the house is dark and one by one they go up the stairs…"

"No!" He shook his head suddenly, dispelling the alcohols effects. "I think I've had enough beer as well, thank you all he same." The phone rang from the hall way. "I should answer that, it might be important. - I don't want anyone killed, ever! But thank you for the beer." She nodded.

"I should be going anyway - goodbye Harry Potter." Harry ran down the hallway towards the phone. The thing about Abigail, he told himself, was that she was naïve, all she wanted to do was help him - she didn't understand right and wrong like other people did. - At least that's what he thought.

Back in the kitchen she watched him leave, still holding the knife tightly. As soon as he was out of sight she flipped the blade in her hand so it was facing point-down and slammed it into the chopping board. It stood there quivering, its metal tip driven an inch into the solid wood. She scowled angrily, her eyes looking stormy.

"Poor, poor, Harry. You're so naïve, so goody-goody, so hopelessly in love with being a good-little-wizard. In short my little bird - you're a drooling moron of a boy." She disappeared, still fuming.

Harry picked up the phone just as it stopped ringing, he didn't recognize the number written across the plastic display, besides it was probably one of his aunt's friends. They'd ring back eventually if it was important. He suddenly felt a cloud of dizziness wash over him from the drink, he walked back into the kitchen but the can was gone and the knife was lying on the chopping board untouched. Thankful that he didn't need to tidy anything away he clambered the stairs and threw himself into bed.


	4. IV

**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter Four - Toast**

Disclaimer - I'm not JK Rowling, I didn't create the characters used in the Harry Potter series and I am in no way related to the Harry Potter series.

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was with a splitting headache and dead on six a.m. Dutifully he dragged himself from bed and prepared for the day. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth tasted of stale beer and dryness. Slowly he plodded downstairs, every step stoking his hang-over to new levels of unpleasantness. He slotted a piece of bread into the toaster and waited, with a grating clang that made him wince it delivered a slice of burnt toast. He took a bite and chewed methodically. After a few more mouthfuls he began to feel better and loaded the toaster for a second time. As the bread cooked he remembered that he'd had no real food last night, the toast popped up and he loaded two more pieces before starting on the Dursley's morning meal.

After putting the three plates of fried breakfast on the table he slumped against the worktop. He debated going back to bed but the thought of climbing the stairs made him nauseas. Groggily he checked the time on the kitchen clock. Strange, his uncle should have been down by now. Something pushed its way to the front of his clouded mind. Abigail, last night… and her offer to kill his family! In a panic he pushed himself off the worktop and looked for the knife wildly.

Vernon came lumbering into the kitchen. Harry's uncle was a mixture of unhealthy colours, his nose was dark red and the rest of his face was a pasty-pale grey. Clearly Harry wasn't the only person in the house to have drunk too much. With a deliberate almost Neanderthal slowness the man began to eat, suddenly he spat explosively, covering Harry in scrambled egg.

"It's cold! The ruddy breakfast is cold! Are you trying to poison me?" Vernon tried to stand but didn't seem able to yell and walk at the same time. He wobbled and then fell back into the chair.

"It's cold," said Harry holding his aching head, "because you're almost half-an-hour late." He didn't have the energy to yell so he spoke flatly and to the point.

"Since when is it your place to tell me; what time I eat my food, in my house at my damn table?!" Vernon brought his fist down heavily, it landed on top of the plate instead of beside it. Dudley sidled into the room trying to avoid the argument by keeping his bulky body as small as possible. He reached out and snatched a piece of Harry's ex-toast and bit into it loudly.

"Dad this toast is burnt! I hate burnt toast! Make him do it again!" Vernon's bleary eyes slipped from Harry to Dudley and then back again. He pulled his hand from the mess of bacon, egg and tomato and stood slowly, leaning on the table.

"I'll be back in ten minutes, if you don't have breakfast redone by then - with all the bloody trimmings - I'll make you wish you felt twice as bad as I do. Clear?"

Harry held his uncles gaze for what seemed like forever, but it was closer to sixty seconds. As a final act of triumph Vernon flipped the plate over, spilling its congealed contents to the floor.

"Clear?" He asked again. Harry watched the breakfast slowly ooze and settle into a greasy puddle. White-hot anger billowed into his mind, curdling with the great ache already there. He took his hands off his head and forced them down by his sides.

"Make-your-own-damn-breakfast!" He said, gritting his teeth in a rage.

"I will do no such thing." Vernon's jowls quivered. "Dudley - fetch me your Smelting's stick." Harry laughed, he was in trouble, and he knew it - but all he could do was laugh. It was absurd to the point of non-realism, they were going to beat him because they'd gone out last night, drank too much, and were now late getting up. They were going to beat him - Harry - the boy who lived. The boy who'd saved their ignorant hides from the darkest wizard of all time. And to think, he'd been worried about them moments earlier.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Said a level voice behind him. Harry stopped laughing and saw that the entire room had frozen. Nothing was moving. Vernon was poised, open mouthed and ready to yell more instructions. But he wasn't moving.

"Abigail?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. She floated to where she could face him, her hands on her hips.

"You see? I was only trying to help. These people, these Dursley's of yours, they're horrible, horrible muggles. And now they're going to beat you." She tore a strip of paper from the kitchen roll and began to wipe the pieces of egg from Harry's face. He batted her hand away - her bare skin freezing his arm. "I can still help you my little bird."

"I don't want anyone bloody well killed." He winced; all the yelling had made his head ten times worse. Abigail reached out slowly and caught his face in her slender hand.

"Look at me Harry Potter." He stared into her eyes, unable to help himself. They were cold, hard eyes - there was no joy or happiness in her gaze, just a frozen sort of emptiness; she was bleak, beguiling and suddenly seemed one of the most stunning people he'd ever seen. Slowly he felt the pain in his head ebb away. Icy electricity seemed to shoot across his face, driving away the pounding ache and replacing it with a vacant chill. "Better?" He nodded dumbly. "Now - let's sort out this mess shall we?" She flicked her fingers towards his uncle and cousin who were still frozen to the spot.

"How?" He stepped out of her reach wondering what he could do if she decided to kill them after all.

"Simple little bird, I'll knock them out like before, and then you'll carry them back to their rooms. They'll wake up a little while later and think it's all been a dream." Before Harry could say anything she pointed a finger at Vernon and he fell to the floor with a thud.

"They can't both have the same dream. It'd be suspicious." Abigail frowned at him.

"Your uncle doesn't believe in dreams and even if he did he wouldn't talk about them to anyone else." She pointed a Dudley, who immediately hit the floor, still holding the burnt toast. "Now, get to work my little bird - I have cleaning to do."

An hour later Harry was sitting in the living room drinking coffee. His arms were wrenched from carrying Vernon and then Dudley up the stairs but it was done. Abigail had shoed him out of the kitchen when he'd tried to help so he'd left her to it. From what he'd seen pots, pans and soap-suds were all flying around at high speeds.

"Finished," She stood in the door way, not a hair out of place despite all the work she'd been doing.

"Thanks - I owe you one."

"I was rather hoping you'd say that." There was a definite edge of devilry in her voice, nothing certain, just a little touch of appeal.

"Why?" He stared at her and put down the coffee - it had suddenly gone from being too hot to just above freezing.

"Take me somewhere nice Harry."

Hermione lay on her neatly kept garden lawn. It was around eleven a.m. and she was sun bathing, or, rather, trying to. The problem was the people next door were out gardening and it was making her feel self-conscious. After a few more minutes she gave up and walked back to the house. Just as she entered the phone rang - evidently someone had found it and returned it to its proper place.

"Hello." Her mother's voice came through the speaker. "No mum I don't want you to bring me a take away - I can get my own lunch… Yeah I know… Uh-huh… well the cookers on so I need to go - bye." She threw herself onto the old armchair that lived in the hall. It was getting harder and harder to think of a way to escape the impending holiday. She pressed the redial button on the phone (Harry's number was still stored as the last call). Thoughtfully she pressed the button again and waited for an answer.

Harry was still in the living room. Abigail had long since done her disappearing act so he was alone, and more than a little confused. The Dursley's, it seemed, were still deeply under their magically induced sleep. He was beginning to worry. The phone began to ring out in the hall. He ignored it, no one would be calling him - all his friends were probably out having fun. It kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. With a sigh he ran into the hall and yanked the receiver off of its rest.

"Yes?" Hopefully it was someone selling something and then he could use it as an excuse to vent his spleen at them.

"Hello is that Harry? Harry Potter?" The voice from the other end sounded clever, authoritative and above all familiar. For a long time he didn't say anything. "Hello?"

"Hi, you are Hermione, right?" He was surprised - but it was a nice surprise.

"Well as far as I know you only gave two people your phone number, and I hardly sound like Ron Weasly." They both laughed.

"How are you?" Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, preparing for a long stay. They talked about everything. From the homework they'd been set to their plans for next year. She was bored and he was fed-up, it made for good conversation. Eventually the topic came around to the convention Hermione was trying to avoid. Harry hardly needed to think before coming up with an answer.

"Tell them you're staying here - the Dursley's are off on some holiday so it'll just be you and me." He paused for a moment before blurting out "… and Ron too." Suddenly he felt stupid, it sounded as though he'd been trying to get her alone someplace. He waited for, or perhaps dreaded, a response.

"You're sure it's okay? I don't want either of us to end up in trouble."

"It'll be fine… well apart from the ghost but she's harmless." He decided it was best to steer around the subject of Abigail. He felt he understood the slim, pale girl - but other people might not.

"You have a ghost… since when? Harry that could be really dangerous...." Hermione felt herself slipping back into the 'responsible role' she adopted during term time.

"Why? The Hogwarts ghosts are fine - trust me she's nice really." From the other end of the phone he heard a sigh.

"I've read books Harry - ghosts have been known to do terrible things to people. The ministry has to keep tabs on all of them."

"That's just what people like Umbridge think." He heard footsteps upstairs. "- Sorry but I need to go - I'll write to you with more details - bye."

"Bye Harry." He put the phone down and looked to the kitchen, wondering whether to cook breakfast or start lunch.

He'd do bacon sandwiches, he decided, it was a mixture of both and reasonably easy to prepare. As long as he remembered to put extra bacon in Dudley's and cut the fat off of his aunt's. When Vernon appeared at the bottom of the stairs he looked far readier to face the day than he had earlier, Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief when he realised that apart from a severe case of deja-vou the man was fine. Dudley was also fine but the extra sleep seemed to have doubled his appetite and he rudely demanded more food.

Abigail peered at the reasonably happy family plus Harry through the kitchen window. They couldn't see her, she was completely invisible - but some muggles seemed to have the ability to perceive despite any magic she performed. When Petunia had entered the room Abigail has been sure the woman knew she was there - but it turned out she was only looking at a thorny rose bush next to her. Her plan had worked well she thought to herself. Even now they didn't seem to realise that their drinks the night before had been spiked to five times the normal strength.

Harry walked back and forth, cleaning this and washing that - from her point of view it was almost comical. She'd set out to capture a hero and he acted more like a slave. But he was strong - there was something about him. Something that forced her to use all her wiles and cunning just to creep a few inches closer, but in time he would fall for her - in time he would fool, maim and kill for her.

Hermione sat in her room knee deep in old dusty books. After her phone call to Harry she'd rushed to change and then caught the bus to the local library. Everything they'd had on ghosts was now rented out between her, her mothers and her father's library accounts. Maybe it was because she was bored and her brain was in need of exercise - but she had a bad feeling about Harry's ghost. She knew he wasn't telling her something, she could read her friends almost as well as the books around her - especially Harry.


	5. V

**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter Five - Somewhere Nice?******

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used in the Harry Potter books, they are the creation and property of JK Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fiction.

Harry sat halfway up the stairs surreptitiously listening to his uncle's phone conversation with the package holiday company. After the late start to the day the Dursley's were rapidly making up for lost time. His aunt was franticly packing and Dudley was punching up road maps on his computer in between mouthfuls.

"There's a place available? - Well there damn well should be - I've been waiting long enough." Harry felt a pang of pity for whoever was on the other end of the phone. Vernon seemed to have taken it as personal offence that there had been no places available at the camp site he'd chosen. "You'll see what you can do? Well about time. Tomorrow? Morning? Good." His uncle put the phone down and dusted his hands off, he looked pleased with himself. "Authority - that's what these people need." He kept muttering.

Harry retreated to his room and relaxed on his bed, he allowed himself a small smile - tomorrow morning the Dursley's would be gone for the entire summer.

"Ready?" said a familiar, but none-the-less creepy voice. Harry tried to stand but got his feet tangled in the bedclothes. After a few moments of struggling he fell onto the floor and managed to free himself.

"What for?" He asked looking up at Abigail where she sat perched on the edge of his cluttered desk. Her smile dropped for a moment and she suddenly looked upset.

"You said you'd take me somewhere nice. Well, _actually_ you promised you'd take me somewhere nice." Her eyes narrowed like a cats as he righted himself and stood up.

"Yeah… I guess I did - but there's nowhere nice around here and I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion. I'll take you somewhere but a little later maybe." She threw a bundle of clothes at his feet. Without taking his eyes off her he knelt to pick them up. There was a pair of black cord trousers and a dark green shirt.

"Put them on." She slid off the table and turned her back to him, crossing her arms. He didn't move. "Hurry up Harry." Still he didn't move, completely bewildered by the situation. "Little bird - you're starting to annoy me." Suddenly he sprawled forwards, it felt like someone was pushing a heavy boot into his back - the pressure increased and he heard his shoulders click. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it on over his t-shirt. The invisible boot let up a bit - just enough for him to change into the trousers.

"I still have nowhere to take you." He grunted as the weight on his back disappeared. She made an annoyed sound in her throat and grabbed his arm.

"Just follow me." He didn't have much choice. For someone who looked so delicate she was incredibly strong. With her other hand she pointed forwards, her hair began to stir eerily and she floated higher off the floor. With a sound like splintering glass, a glowing blue light appeared in front of them. She pushed him towards it. His hair stood on end and crackled like static as the room spun about him, when it stopped spinning it was no longer a room. The first thing that he noticed was the air - it was wonderfully clean and fresh but also seemed thinner than normal. He could see for miles and miles around him, blue-grey mountains stood against the horizon wreathed in clouds and snow. It was amazing.

"Where are we?" He looked down and gasped, the ground sloped away at an incredibly steep angle.

"Somewhere nice." said Abigail, who was staring at Harry rather than the scenery.

Hermione rubbed her sore eyes. She'd been reading non-stop ever since the phone call and the air was thick with dust from the dog-eared books, most of which were useless. She didn't like to admit it but everything she'd been looking through was far to muggle-like to be of any good. _"What did you expect?"_ she asked herself sternly. _"The public library isn't exactly the world's number one authority on wizarding matters." _She clambered over to the window and opened it wide, letting the summer breeze stir amongst her dusty hair. This was getting slightly stupid she realised. There was no real reason to suspect that Harry was in any kind of trouble - only she had the strangest feeling that something bad was going to happen "_You're getting obsessive_," said the stern voice. She looked at the vast pile of books - "_I suppose I could just phone him and sort this whole thing out…" _But that would mean admitting that she needed help. It was a battle between her pride and her curiosity and she wasn't sure which was going to win.

Harry slowly turned around, taking in the full panoramic view from the mountain top. Abigail was right - it really was a nice place. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him away from the edge.

"I brought some food." She held up a bundle parcelled neatly in white linen.

"I've already eaten," said Harry still gazing into the distance.

"Oh go on," she whined "Just have a little something. You don't even know what I've got yet." Harry relented, it did seem that she'd put a lot of effort into this outing. He sat as best he could on the stony ground and she joined him.

Hermione held the phone poised and ready to dial Harry's number for a second time that day. He'd think she was weird, she could imagine it now. "Hi Harry are you about to be attacked by and evil spirit?" It would sound ridiculous. But what if he was in trouble? He'd saved and protected her on many occasions - she owed him the same in return. Still unsure if she was making the correct decision she dialled the number before she could change her mind again.

"Yeah?" said an unfamiliar voice.

"Oh, hello… who is it please?" Secretly she groaned, it clearly wasn't Harry she was speaking to.

"Dudley Dursley," said the voice "Wha'd'ya want anyway?" She thought back to all she'd heard about Dudley. He was fat - that wasn't much help. He was mean - still not much help. He was also fond of TV and big explosions… she put her brain into gear.

"Hello Mr. Dursley, my name is Professor Granger and I'm from the Psychopathic Wizard Recovery Unit. Quite frankly sir, we need your help." It was a crazy idea, but it just might work.

"My help?" She suddenly had his full attention.

"Yes indeed, this is your chance to be a real hero." She tried to put as much authority into her voice as possible, which wasn't too hard given her experience as a prefect.

"Go on." In the background she heard the TV being muted or switched off.

"We have reason to believe that there is an escaped lunatic in your area - a very dangerous person. And we need to know everything that's happened recently - anything out of the ordinary. If your information checks out we can send in storm troopers to make the arrest." As she spoke she could hear curtains being twitched aside.

"I don't hear any storm troupers."

"… Of course you don't their wearing state-of-the-art electro-thermal-camouflage… stuff."

"Uh-huh… will I get a medal?"

"A medal!? Well how should I know - please Mr. Dursley, the information."

"Hmmm, well I thought I saw a ghost the other day - she was all pale and floating… and I've had a couple of weird dreams. Harry's been weird but dad say's he always is. I expect you know all about him anyway."

"Dreams Mr. Dursley?"

"- About the ghost… there was this one I had this mourning where she said she'd kill me if I woke up before eleven."

"And what did you do?"

"Slept I guess."

"Did you fall asleep or did she make you fall sleep?"

"She said she made me… But I don't know - I sleep a lot, it's because I do boxing."

"Right… okay, thanks you've been a big help." Hermione hung up and raced back upstairs. She'd heard enough - something odd was happening and she wasn't the type of person to let 'it' go on unless she understood what 'it' was.

Harry, meanwhile, was happily eating a slice of the large Victoria sponge cake Abigail had given him. It was getting colder he realised, but he could ignore it for a while longer.

"Tell me more about quiditch Harry. You must have done some pretty amazing things being seeker for the Gryffindor team." She cut another slice of cake with the bone handled knife that seemed to disappear in the same way she did when it wasn't in use. Harry took the cake and began to explain - he was sure he'd been over this before but he didn't really mind. It was getting colder he realised, but he could wait for a while longer.

Back amongst the books Hermione was at a loss. There wasn't anything she could use - not even with the new information from Harry's cousin. Downstairs she heard her mother and father return - it seemed that they were back early to sort out this convention nonsense.

"Hermione, have you eaten anything?" She ignored her mothers question and pulled another book from the pile. What she needed was access to the vast library at Hogwarts - but she doubted very much that she could even get near the castle during the holidays. There was one other place that would keep books on ghosts she decided - Diagon Alley a place that sold almost everything.

"Mum I need to go to London… … It's for school work."

"Whatever for?" said her mother who was just outside the door.

"I need to buy a book."

"Hermione you have hundreds of books."

"I broke one of them… I spilt cola on it and the ink ran."

"Well let me take a look and see what I can do to fix it." Hermione reached under her bed and grabbed the first book her hand came to. 'Hogwarts a History.' There was a half empty can on the windowsill, which she also grabbed. Hesitantly she held the can above the book… she couldn't do it - Books were important, they were practically her entire life - she couldn't just ruin one because she had a vague idea that Harry was in trouble. _"Honestly Hermione, what would you rather have? Harry or a book you can replace a few weeks into term?" _Defiantly she tipped the can; brown sugary liquid soaked into the pages and ran onto the floor, taking with it so many precious words.

"Hermione?"

"Okay, okay - I'll be there in a second." She rolled the now empty can under the bed and pulled the door open, holding out the sopping book.

"Hermione, are you - are you crying?" She blinked furiously.

"Honestly mum it's just a book - why would I be crying?"

A shiver ran through Harry's body, followed by another and another. He clutched at the frozen slice of cake with both hands and desperately tried to bite into it. Abigail watched him, a cruel smile arching across her pretty face. Unlike the beer, which she'd stolen from a close-to-hand muggle, she had actually made the cake herself. And in making it she'd laced it with a powerful and stupefying love potion. Combined with the freezing weather it was quickly beating down Harry's mental defences. She'd hoped to ensnare the Potter boy without having to resort to 'wizard' magic, but she had to admit the potion did have its advantages.

Harry stared through to cold, he thought he could see snow but it might just be the freezing weather playing tricks on his tired mind. He focused on the cake in his hand with pain staking effort. '_It was wrong' _a part of him said, but that part seemed to be slowly perishing amongst the icy contours of his breaking mind. He had to stand, he had to drop the bloody cake and stand up. But he couldn't. If he did then Abigail would be disappointed - and if Abigail was disappointed… The mere thought sent rolling tides of pain sweeping across his body. But he was strong. The tiny voice in the back of his mind said so, it nagged and it chivvied in a voice like Hermione's, it was a comfort - a small but welcome comfort.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Abigail questioned as he slowly forced himself to his feet. He didn't look at her, if he looked the icy temptress full in the face then surely it would be the end of him; his eyes were fixed firmly ahead. "Stop it!"

"Why?" His blue lips seemed to take forever to form the single torturous syllable. Abigail flexed her long fingers into claws.

"Oh… Because I love you Harry Potter." She spoke in a fake and flunky sing-song voice, laden with sarcasm and falsehoods. With a strangled choke Harry fell to his knees - bruised and beaten.

When Harry suddenly appeared at the top of his road he wasn't sure how, or why, he'd got there. His clothes were soaking wet and the tips of his fingers stung like furry as blood returned to them. Slowly he trudged towards his house, ignoring the white and chrome monstrosity of a caravan hitched to the Dursley's car. He also ignored his uncle's demands to know where he'd been. He just carried on trudging until her reached his room where he fell asleep instantly - just as Abigail had told him to.

Hermione was also in her room, she was holding a small rectangle of paper - a return ticket to London by train. The argument with her parents had been long and hard but eventually - after much kicking and screaming on her part, although she'd never admit it, she had won. Her father had driven down to the station and got her the ticket whilst her mother had coaxed her into drinking cups of sugary tea. Sometimes she felt guilty for using her parents in such a way, but not tonight - it was necessary, it was for Harry.


	6. VI

**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter Six - Strange Cafe**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters and places featured in the books are the creations of JK Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fiction.

Hermione stood on the platform; her feet just behind the white line that ran along the edge. It was early and a subtle chill was in the air despite the sunshine. Below her the rails hummed quietly. The only other people waiting for her train seemed to be impassive men and women in business suites, most of their faces were hidden behind newspapers or cups of corporate coffee. She felt inappropriate - her mother had insisted that she ware something pretty and as a result she was painfully visible against the grey station in a long black skirt and red top. The humming of the rails increased and the train rolled into the station, with a hiss the doors slid open and everyone pilled on, ignoring everyone else.

In a daze Harry watched the Dursley's prepare for their holiday. Every now and then they'd send him to fetch or carry something, which he did without question. Dudley barged past him but he didn't really notice, he just allowed himself to be pushed sharply to the left and stayed there. He had the strangest of feelings, it was like something was missing or that he'd forgotten something - but whatever it was felt so important that he couldn't possibly have left it elsewhere. It was almost as though he'd woken up without breathing but had carried on living. Outside of his thoughts he heard the sound of metal clinking upon metal. He looked up; his uncle was double checking the last of the anti-Harry locks before leaving. Confident in the fastenings strength Vernon turned to face him.

"Right, we're off - try not to have any fun. The rules are stuck where you can see them." Harry looked around, on the back of every locked door was a sheet of paper detailing an extensive list of 'do's and don'ts' - mostly don'ts. Dreamily he walked to the nearest window and watched as the Dursley's departed on their journey, caravan in tow. Something significant was happening he realised, something he'd been looking forward to. He supposed he should be happy but he couldn't shake the bleak feelings drifting around in his mind.

The rhythmic sound of the wheels on the track annoyed Hermione as she sipped from her polystyrene cup. The outside world bled past the window in a blur as the train sped onwards. But in her opinion it wasn't speeding fast enough. She was beginning to wonder why, exactly, she was heading to London to find out about a danger that may or may not exist. She was feeling anxious, anxious to get everything over and done with so that she could go back to her normal summer.

She knocked her boots together; they were stout sensible boots in a shade of dull green. They really didn't suit the skirt but it didn't matter. They suited her perfectly, no matter what her family may think. They were comfortable, practical and reliable - there were also metal caps inside the toes in case anyone should care to disagree. This was how she lived her life, through small acts of rebellion - nothing important - certainly nothing worth writing about, just tiny little things that kept her sane through all the studying and good grades. Harry for instance, she didn't believe for a minute that the school celebrity would take anything other than a platonic _interest_ in someone like her… but sometimes she could think small thoughts that said otherwise. The train carried on, the repetitiveness of its droning engines lulling her into a light sleep.

Her eyes flickered open slowly, somewhere in the cabin a phone was ringing, it took her a few moments to realise that it was hers. She pressed the answer button.

"Hello? Yeah… Honestly mum I'm fine… I know your just checking… No I'm still on the train… Well it's probably a little late or something. I'll phone you later - bye." She looked out of the window, thankful that she hadn't slept past her stop. The train rolled into Kings Cross gently. The doors hissed and she scrambled out of her seat and exited the cabin onto the crowded platform.

Harry sat on the stairs feeling lost. He was hungry but hadn't got himself anything to eat, he was confident he could open the lock and get into the kitchen but something stopped him from doing anything that constructive.

"Hello little bird." Abigail materialised a couple of stairs down from him, she leant forward bringing her face inches from his. "How are you today?" He blinked slowly, trying to put his feelings into words. "I'm…" Suddenly a dumb grin appeared across his face, he felt something shoot through his veins - it was like knocking back a shot of raw whisky. "Very well thank you." Abigail's lips thinned into a cruel smile, he kept on grinning like a fool.

"All these locks and bolts are making the place look ugly…" Harry stared at his feet, feeling gloomy again.

"Sorry…" He mumbled.

"Don't be." His head shot back up and vacant happiness returned to his eyes. "Just get rid of them for me." Slowly he nodded.

Hermione squeezed through the crowds with a dogged determination. She'd told her father that she knew exactly where she was going before he'd agreed to get her the tickets, it had been a lie. She had a rough idea of where the Leaky Cauldron was, but in a city that changed by the hour having 'rough ideas' was seldom useful. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the familiar doorway. She darted across the road and pushed through the nondescript entrance. The Leaky Cauldron sprawled out almost exactly as she remembered it. Even the strange assortment of patrons looked familiar - as though none of them had gone home since her last visit. Trying not to stare she made her way awkwardly amongst the chairs and tables towards the alley's enchanted entrance. She wished fervently, as she half-tripped over the feet of a hooded woman, that she had some of the courage and ease that Harry seemed to posses in places like this.

At that moment Harry was kneeling awkwardly against his living room door pulling and cajoling the heavy lock that bound it shut. It seemed that his uncle had foreseen Harry's attempts at amateur lock-smithery and had brought combination locks rather than the key kind. He paused for a moment absently sucking his cut and bruised fingers.

"Having trouble?" Abigail stood watching him with swanlike dignity.

"They're screwed on tight… but I'll manage." Harry returned to his chore, digging his fingertips into the hard metal edges.

"Stop a moment and eat… you must be hungry."

"No, no I can manage. You asked me to do something so I'll do it."

"I'm telling you to eat something." Her eyes narrowed and suddenly she was far more like a vulture than a swan, her head bent low and her shoulders hunched in annoyance. He stopped straining against the metal. "I brought you some more cake Harry… and a little wine." A silver platter appeared in her hands which she set daintily by his side. "It'll help you build up some strength." With all the trust of a child towards its mother he drained the narrow wine glass of its dark red contents, as the thick concoction rolled down his throat new found power seemed to fan through his limbs. He returned to the lock and pulled it easily from the heavy door. Abigail smiled at him happily; he was going to prove very useful; especially with the aid of a few more potions and baubles.

Diagon Alley dazzled in the sun. The cobbles gleamed gently and the windows shone. It lifted Hermione's spirits no end. She walked slowly down the street peering at the different shop displays. Harry was a matter of urgency but there was no point in dashing to the first bookshop she saw, that wasn't logical. Flourish & Blotts, she supposed, would be a good place to start - it did stock all the Hogwarts approved books.

It was cool and calm amongst the shelves of texts, as she walked in she caught the faint smell of coffee, tea leaves and paper. She liked this shop but everything seemed to carry a hefty price. The first book that caught her attention 'The Practical Compendium of Common-or-Garden Hauntings' was as thick as her forearm and cost more than all she had spent all last year. She looked at it longingly and moved along the isle. The next book 'Grandma Gripe's Guide to Ghost's' wasn't as big, or as expensive as the first one but it was still far too much for her price range. She was about to flick through the gilded pages but a sign on the window caught her eye - 'He who reads buys!' Sighing she walked back into the street.

Two hours and thirty minutes later she was still looking and getting increasingly fed up. There didn't seem to be a shop in the place that would sell her what she wanted at a reasonable price. She was beginning to expect a price hike due to Voldemort's return. Many shops were advertising home protection kits that contained little more than a few spells she'd learnt in her second year. A chill breeze caught the side of her face. She looked up and found herself staring into the grim confines of Knockturn Alley. The winding street seemed to be empty apart from a few moth-eaten sandwich boards, advertising sinister and complicated dealings. Hermione had heard that you could get a lot of things in Knockturn Alley, almost anything you wanted. But she'd also heard that it was one of the most evil places in Wizarding Britain. Taking a shaky breath she stepped forwards, half expecting to be struck by lightening. Behind her she could hear the bustle of Diagon, only a few meters away - surly it wouldn't hurt just to take a quick look? After all, she wasn't about to fall for some Faustian deal. Cautiously she went a little further.

The more she walked the more she wanted to turn back but she fought her instincts and carried on. The windows facing the dirty street tiles didn't shine invitingly, she had to squint to see behind the grime and more often than not she wished she hadn't. Shrunken heads, twisted plants and all manner of odd paper parcels were skulking in the displays. She rounded a corner nervously and came face to face with a small café, it was an awkward and slopping place decked out in black and dark red panelling. At first she thought it was odd that such a place existed surrounded by the rest of the alley, but the more she looked the more she felt that this building could match the rest of the place's evils put together. Finally her courage left her and she turned to leave.

"Now, wait just a minute there missy." A strong hand grabbed her shoulder tightly. She spun to face its owner. A tall wizard looked down at her, his long white hair slicked backwards against his head and trailing down his shoulders. He wore a black suit with a large golden pocket watch in one pocket attached to jingling chain. Thin framed glasses were balanced on his face magnifying his sparkling, kindly eyes.

"Professor Dumble…" He held a long finger to his lips silencing her.

"Now, I'm not sure about any professor but I am sure that you shouldn't be running around a place like this, surly I am." The strange man spoke with an accent she'd only heard on the old cowboy films her father sometimes watched.

"Sorry, but I was looking for something - it's important." Dumbledore, she was almost certain it was him, looked at her quizzically.

"Well if it'll get you out of this Alley faster then I guess I'm obliged to help you." They took seats at one of the ornate but rusting green tables outside the strange café. After a few moments a goblin in a dirty apron brought them cups of a strong black drink - she guessed it was coffee but didn't drink it. "So, what's your trouble?" Pseudo-Dumbledore drained his cracked white mug after speaking. She thought for a moment, whatever she said would need to be phrased carefully.

"I have a friend, who has a bit of a problem with a ghost. He's quite well known amongst the right people."

"So you thought you'd have a root through London and see if you could dig up something on his problem?" She nodded. "Well you've come to the right place ma'am I happen to be a bit of an expert on ghosts and the like. Why only last week I dealt with a fellow who'd been mesmerized by some kind of poltergeist - seem to be a lot more about lately."

"So you'd be able to give me some advice?" He smiled in a gentlemanly way and pulled a white glove from his pocket.

"I worry about you young folks, always rushing to find adventure of some sort." He pressed the glove into her hands. "I picked up this little trinket a while back now, never got any use out of it but the guy who gave it me swore by it - of course he was as crazy as they come. Maybe it'll help keep you a little safer against all your ghosties and demons." He was patronising her she realised, suddenly she felt a good deal less safe.

"So… I suppose you saved the person who had the poltergeist?" She began to edge off her seat.

"Hell no! I have no patience for people who get so tangled in the unnatural that they can't see there feet. He pulled a wand on me the moment I tried to deal with his little friend so I blew his head clean off." The man rolled his own head back and laughed, exposing rows of rotten, uneven black teeth. Whoever he was he certainly wasn't the headmaster. Knocking the chair over behind her she ran for the safety of Diagon and its clean cobble stones, the fake cowboy laughter still ringing in her ears.


	7. VII

**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter Seven - Prophecy**

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine; the characters taken from the books are the property of JK Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fiction.

An unnerving chill ran through the Dursley household on silent feet. Harry watched icy patterns swirl and spread across the windows with a dull half-interest. He was sitting in his uncles favourite armchair which he'd heaved onto the kitchen table; his throne Abigail had called it. Below him were his school things, strewn about with an idle disregard, like forgotten toys. The myriad of potions he'd been taking had made it easy to force the lock on the cupboard beneath the stairs. He'd wanted to simply smash the door from its hinges but Abigail has stopped him. She said that the small room might be useful later.

Hermione skidded into Diagon Alley, her sturdy footwear saving her from plunging through a large display window that held cauldrons of different sizes. As the hectic mixture of fear adrenalin drained from her body she felt a wave of weariness crash over her. She pulled out her phone and checked the time on the screen, there were a few more hours before she had to catch the return train but she wasn't sure how to spend them. A part of her wanted to give up, to accept the fact that she was wrong and that Harry was perfectly safe. Another part, however, screamed that she should keep looking - after all Hermione Granger was never wrong.

Harry stretched and settled back into his armchair-island which rose out of the encroaching gloom. Ever since Abigail had made her stay permanent the house seemed to have taken on a sinister climate of its own. He could hear his pale skinned possessor singing gently from somewhere above him. The shadows seemed to creep a little closer with every drawn out note. He'd thought about asking her what she was doing but she'd told him to stay out of the way until he was needed and of course he had done.

A cautious hooting sounded from his left; it wasn't Hedwig because she was locked away. He turned towards to sound. An over-fluffed ball of white feathers bobbed towards him. With another soft hoot Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, landed on his lap. He stared at the tiny bird trying to focus on the glimmer of recognition that glinted in his potion-fogged minds eyes. This owl belonged to someone he knew, someone he'd written to recently. He unfastened, unrolled and read the short letter. By now the room was pitch black - but it didn't matter, his eyes, which were bloodshot and hazy seemed to adjust easily.

_Hi Harry!_

_ Thanks for asking me to stay at your place over the summer, Dad was all for it. But I'm afraid Mum wasn't so impressed - seems she wants me somewhere where she can keep an eye on me (and probably you too!) I tried to argue but just ended up having to clean out the broom shed. But you're always welcome to stay here anytime, just write me and we'll pick you up ASAP. Sorry for not being able to come, hope the muggles are treating you well._

_ From_

_ Ron._

He looked at the owl again and was momentarily taken aback by the fear flickering in the tiny bird's eyes. Something primal whispered from the amber depths, some ancient communication buried by time. It called to him, told him to run. Something was wrong - very wrong. Harry Potter was not supposed to sit on high and play the role of some glorified play thing. Especially to someone, to some creature, like the Abigail. From out of nowhere icy nails plunged into his shoulder sending bolts of pain scintillating down his arm.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," crooned the sinister girl behind him. "Why didn't you tell me we had a visitor?" Harry winced but made no attempt to move the cruel fingers.

"It's just a letter, a letter for me… nothing important." Abigail released her grip.

"Of course it isn't important, _I'd_ have known about it already if it was important." Ron's owl gave one final hoot of warning and bolted off into the darkened house. "After it!" Abigail screeched. Harry stood automatically and began to give chase. Before he knew what he was doing he was making wild grabs at the owl as it raced into the living room. He dived with his arms outstretched, as though playing quiditch minus the broom, the small bird slipped through his fingers and shot up the chimney, he heard it whoop excitedly as it shot into the night sky above and made for home. As he landed his jaw collided with the heavy stone hearth in front of the fireplace. Abigail stamped angrily. "Get up cretin!"

"No…" It took all of his willpower to speak the single syllable.

"Don't argue Harry, it would make me ever so unhappy." Her voice slipped into its familiar simpering tones. He tried to resist again but found that he was already pushing himself to his feet. "I think it's time you had some more cake."

"Yes Abigail."

Hermione scuffed up and down Diagon still deep in dilemma. It would be so easy if she could just sprout wings, fly to Privet Drive, check on Harry and then go home again. Floo powder would have worked wonders but she doubted the Dursley's, of all people, were connected into the vast network of fireplaces. Gradually she made her way back to the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps she would think better after a butter beer or two. As she passed Gringotts she pulled out the handful of wizarding coins she had and counted them. In comparison with the grandly decorated building her small pile seemed extra tiny.

She entered the small tavern and was again struck by the timeless feel of its interior. So much so that she almost failed to notice the tall, white haired wizard sitting in the corner. In fact she would have ignored him completely if it wasn't for the small tap she felt on her shoulder as she walked in.

It couldn't be! She'd already made a fool of herself once and she wasn't about to do it again. - Dumbledore was not sitting opposite her - he couldn't be. But he was.

"Professor?" She kept her distance, still not totally convinced.

"Miss Granger - I hear you've been looking for me." Hermione nodded "Although next time I would advise against going into Nocturn Alley." Beneath his glasses Dumbledore's eyes shone brightly. "Now what can I do for you?"

"But how did you know?" She demanded. He smiled in a kindly way.

"Some phoenixes have excellent eyes and ears." Inwardly she grimaced; she'd been followed - spied on. "Now Miss Granger, what can I do for you?"

"I need to know how Harry is." The headmaster nodded.

"He's spending the summer in France with his aunt and uncle. - I would tell you more but I'm already late for a meeting with the Minister." For a brief moment she thought she saw a glimmer of distaste in Dumbledore's eyes, but before she could be sure it was gone.

"But he isn't. He stayed behind - he's in trouble, I know it!" The headmaster looked at her with a calculating expression.

"I'm sorry Hermione but the people assigned to Harry tell me that he is perfectly fine. I cannot call the Order into force just because you or any other student says otherwise, there is too much at risk." He stood up and turned away. Hermione seethed, the one person she felt sure could help was brushing her aside because he was late for a meeting he didn't want to go to.

At that moment she felt the tenuous tightrope between adult and childhood snap. She, Hermione Granger - a reader of books, a seeker of knowledge - was not going to be thrown some abstract explanation about risks and meetings and be happy with it. She was not going to play the role of a good little student, not if Harry was in danger and she could do something about it.

"Stop right there!" To her surprise Dumbledore stopped, he raised an eyebrow questioningly as he faced her. "Do any of your people know Harry? Do any of your people care about him? Because I do and I as far as I can see he's just a puppet you like to wave at Voldemort…" People began to look in her direction with worry but she carried on. "If he came and told you I was in danger then you'd jump alright - but not because you care about me, or him, but just because he's the boy who lived. And I'm telling you he's in danger! Your precious flag boy is in the fire so what are you going to do about it?!" Dumbledore's eyes blazed, at first she thought it was anger, rage that she'd overstepped her place. But as she met his gaze she realised that there was something more, a burning respect - almost admiration, almost as though he were proud of her.

"The question Miss Granger; is what are you going to do about it?" It dawned on her slowly, he'd been testing her. The meeting and the lack of regard had been hurdles and it looked as though she'd jumped them… but where was she going to land? Dumbledore made a small movement with his hands and at once she felt herself jerked sharply from behind with a crack.

Her feet were no longer standing on the well-worn floor of the Leaky Cauldron. She was in a dark room which, from the echo of her breathing seemed large and never-ending. Dumbledore stood a few feet away, visible only by his outline in the gloom.

"Where am I?" Strangely she didn't feel scared, only curious and anxious to help Harry.

"Very few people know about this place, those that do call it the Hall of the Lion, once it was clear Voldemort had returned I moved some of Hogwarts more important artefacts here for safe keeping." The headmaster clicked his fingers and a large stone basin in front of him burst with blue flames. The fire cast a pale half-light over the surrounding floor.

"What does this have to do with Harry?"

"Nothing… Absolutely nothing."

"What are you talking about?!" She felt another surge of anger towards the old wizard; he always spoke in riddles, even when lives were at stake.

"Do you ever feel Hermione? That some things happen for a greater reason than is apparent at the time?" She just stared at him blankly. "Have you ever wondered why you met Harry? Why you and he have become friends?

"I still don't see what this has to do with Harry Professor."

"I told you - nothing, this Miss Granger, _this_ has to do with you. You're a clever girl, you will realise it for yourself in time and come to understand it more - sufficed to say that you have a little prophecy of your own."

She tightened her grip around her wand, she hadn't even realised she'd pulled it from the loop on her skirt. Inside her head she kept telling herself that this was all wrong. Harry was the one with the destiny, not her. But something, a gut feeling, told her that this was exactly what should be happening. It was the same feeling that had told her Harry was in danger to begin with. "Your wand will be worse than useless. As soon as you use it you'll be expelled."

"I don't care. Just take me to Harry."

"There are some things more powerful than wands Hermione. Look behind you." She turned around, impatient, now she had made up her mind to follow the madness, to be on her way. Something glinted at her from a simple stone plinth. A long metal blade shone in the fire light. She recognised it; Harry had pulled it from the sorting hat in what seemed like an age ago. Laying her wand down she lifted the Gryffindor Sword, it took both hands and made her shoulders ache but she could just about wield the ancient weapon. As it moved it rang a keen metal note. Under any other circumstance she would have felt ridiculous, there was no way she could use a sword. But again something told her she was right, part of the same indescribable feeling. "Before you go, know this - I care deeply about each of my students, far more so than I care about myself. Good luck Hermione. Are you ready?"

She nodded.


	8. VIII

****

**Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections**

**Chapter Eight - Recognition**

****

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters therein are the property and creation of JK Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fiction and is in no way connected with the cannon Harry Potter series.

She nodded.

Briefly she saw Dumbledore raise his hands, the distance between them seemed to escalate suddenly and a steely crack whipped through her body. For a second there was darkness accompanied by the sound of wind roaring past. She had the impression she was moving at a great speed but at the same time she knew she was standing perfectly still. Abruptly the strange sensation ended and she found herself surrounded by the well kept suburban lawns of Privet Drive.

For a moment she just stood, wondering what to do next. The glittering sword was already weighing heavily on her arms and she wasn't exactly sure what use it would be. It slowly dawned that she was standing in the middle of a spate of muggle homes brandishing a lethal blade, throwing caution aside she slipped through the back door of Harry's home.

Her breath rose in misty clouds as the door shut silently sealing the light outside. The extreme cold added to the already ominous feelings cluttering her mind.

"Harry?" The sound of her own voice shivered down her spine, it sounded strained and distant. There was no answer. "Harry?" She called again, tightening her grip around the sword which was no longer glittering in its comforting glow. Keeping close to the wall she tiptoed towards the first door she could find. The handle was blisteringly cold but the hinges worked with a noiseless efficacy. The Dursley's kitchen lay before her; covered in darkness so thick she could almost feel it. She took a step forwards, an unnatural feeling played across her skin, someone, or something, was watching her. She scrambled for where she guessed the light switch would be. There was a second's pause before the fluorescent tube flickered into life, spraying the walls with harsh white light. The watcher hastily threw an arm across their eyes, apparently dazzled.

"My God… Harry?" Slowly the arm was lowered revealing Harry's malnourished face. His skin was an ill shade of grey and his clothes hung off his skinny frame even more so than usual. But what horrified Hermione most were his eyes, which had once been such a beautiful shade of green. They were blood shot and his pupils burned with a malevolent red light. His eyes skimmed over her with no sign of recognition.

"Who are you?" His voice was blank and barley above a whisper. He stepped down from his chair and stood to his full height. He seemed far taller than he had been and the shadows that pooled around his body added to his imposing image. She reached out a hand to touch his arm but stopped, afraid of what she would feel. An aura of corruption oozed from his like week-old sweat.

"She's trouble Harry…" A silvery spark appeared in the centre of the tiled floor and exploded into Abigail pushing them away from each other. She floated in the middle watching one, then the other "Too much trouble." Finally she settled her gaze on Hermione. "Potter is mine girl... You shall not have him!" With a flick of her wrist she produced her bone-handled pocket knife. Hermione felt a powerful anger rise in her chest, she hefted Griffyndor's blade to shoulder height ready to swing. Inside she was petrified but her exterior was calm; galvanised by rage.

"Harry is not an object, you can't own him!" She tensed, anticipating the creature's next move. Abigail laughed.

"Wouldn't you? If you had half the chance your name would be written all over his face." Hermione lowered her head and glared.

"Try me."

Abigail jerked forwards, her knife flashing blue streaks in the air again and again. Hermione caught the first two blows on the swords edge almost accidentally. The third whipped past her face with barley an inch to spare. She edged backwards each time just managing to avoid the wicked edge of Abigail's weapon. For a second the rain of attacks let up and Hermione seized her chance. She swung the sword in a broad arc letting its weight carry her across the room as it spun. Abigail twisted out of reach and disappeared with an icy crackle of energy. She reappeared opposite Hermione and they locked eyes. Slowly they began to circle, each waiting for the other to make a mistake that would almost certainly prove fatal.

Harry watched the battle impassively; his eyes followed the deadly blades as if in a trance. As the strange girl spun he caught a full view of her face. Who was she? Why had she appeared out of the blue? He was happy here alone with Abigail… wasn't he? The sharp crack of Abigail's spells dragged his attention back to the fray. His eyes again crossed Hermione's face and something moved in his heavy head like a leaf teetering on the edge of a whirlpool. Her eyes flashed dangerously, their deep brown hue a sharp contrast to the frozen blue of Abigail's stare. Fire, courage and intelligence flickered across those eyes… Tendrils of foggy potion began to claw their way out of his mind, suddenly he was violently sick. The red glow faded from behind his eyes and for a moment they were green again.

"Hermione…" He managed to stutter around the burning, sickly taste of vomit at the back of his throat. Hermione's eyes left Abigail's for a second and the knife wielding creature shot forwards ready to strike.

A horrible silence filled the room stemming from the ornately carved bone handle which rose from the centre of Hermione's chest. She blinked slowly, the look of shock on her face slowly dissolving into an agonised wince. Blood bloomed across the front of her sweat soaked top with an unreal slowness. The sword clattered from her hand turning dull as it met with the floor.

"I'm sorry Harry… I tried… honestly I did…" Her voice wavered in and out between shallow breaths. Abigail landed neatly and walked forwards with loud, echoing footsteps. She reached out a pale hand towards the knife's handle ready to finish her victim.

"Stop!" Harry bellowed.

"You're supposed to be my unquestioning slave… these discrepancies are getting more and more annoying little bird." Abigail's lips thinned and curved into a cruel smile. "However… Perhaps I could allow you this little indulgence." She tapped the knife handle eliciting a pained wail from Hermione. A large chalice appeared in Abigail's long fingers. "This is a one of my favourite things Harry." The ornate cup was made from pewter or perhaps very old silver. There was something deeply unnerving about it. "Drink from this and I'll let the girl live." Hermione's moans became less clear but more frantic.

"It's empty" He whispered, it seemed wrong to talk in any great volume.

"This is the only cup you'll ever find that drinks from you." Abigail's fingers caressed the dull metal as she spoke. "It's built to take away the part of you that wants to resist, a tiny little part of your soul. Originally I wanted all of you in tact Harry… but this is the next best thing."

Harry's eyes moved slowly from Hermione's face to the loathsome ornament. Silently he held out his hand and nodded. Abigail's sickening smile increased. "The dark lord will be pleased." She said sweetly. Harry's gaze snapped onto Abigail as she spoke. His face darkened, flecks of red began to reappear in his pupils.

"Voldemort… Swear it… swear on Voldemort's child murdering name that she'll live if I drink this!" With one savage back-hand Abigail sent Hermione's shaking body sprawling into the wall.

"Use the dark lords true name again and she dies here and now Harry Potter - that much I will promise." Swearing Harry spat the last of the vomit taste from his mouth and raised the chalice to his lips. His eyes fixed on Hermione all the while. As he tipped his head back he felt something slide into his mouth, like smoke or æther. Whatever it was it slipped inside of him coiling and sliding. He tried to wretch but found he was completely immobile. Gradually it began to withdraw, dragging itself back into the chalice. Tiny little lights travelled with it, gently glowing pinpricks caught in a web of sorcery… some small part of his soul he realised as the cup dropped from his grasp into Abigail's waiting hand. His eyes unfocussed and the invading red glow swept across them once more.

…

…

Hermione stretched out as best she could in the cramped confines of the under-stairs cupboard. She wasn't sure how but the wound had disappeared from her chest but the skin between her breasts was perfect once more. But it still stung like wild fire. So far Abigail had been more or less true to her word. Once Harry had... Oh God, what had Harry done? She tried to estimate how long had passed since then, three hours? Thirty hours? It was almost impossible to tell. For a long time she had just cried but now she had no more tears and nothing left to do.

Slowly she forced herself to adopt the no nonsense attitude that served her so well in exams and classes. But it was hard. Failure was a rare and unwelcome visitor to her psyche and amongst the other things she had done today she'd certainly failed. _"Get a grip on yourself!"_ She muttered. _"You're not dead are you? You're not even tied up…" _She began to explore her makeshift prison in more detail, slowly moving her hands across the rough unpainted walls. Her fingers came into contact with something soft and dry, she could pick it up easily… she brought it close to her face - it was an old album, leather bound.

Harry stumbled from room to room. An oddly pleasant sensation filled his head, he had no worries, no commitments and there was no need to remember anything. If there was something he needed to do then Abigail would tell him to do it, life suddenly seemed all very simple. The sickly potions spilled though his veins like treacle and met no resistance, leaving behind an oily residue of power and darkness; all the while he smiled foolishly.

Abigail floated above the centre of Vernon and Petunia's room. The large bed and pink sheets were gone, so was all the other furniture. This room was now her private study. In each corner was a tall fat candle stick burning a large, heatless blue flame. Silvery powder marked out a complicated circle on the floor, its centre filled with twisted vines wrapped around a thirteen pointed star. The pale girl's eyes closed slowly and her body was surrounded by a blue-grey nimbus, the glow slowly spread across powder until the entire room was covered in a bizarre lattice of light and shadow.

"Dark Lord." She whispered. There was no audible reply but a presence seemed to fill the room. "A girl came to rescue the Potter boy… she has been detained." There was pause and then a long drawn out hiss that slowly formed itself into a parody of human speech.

"Explain," it said.

Harry paced up and down the hallway; he was beginning to get frustrated. Abigail hadn't talked to him for some time. Slowly he began to wonder if she would ever come back. She'd told him that she would… but what if something had happened to her? He thought about going to check - but she'd also told him not to bother her. Snapping in a sudden confusion he smashed his hand into the light switch. His fist left a sizable crater in the wall and for a few moments afterwards his blood seemed to boil. He bellowed an oath and carried on pacing. The remains of the switch sparked and the light flickered into life.

Hermione dozed with the newly discovered book resting on her lap. There hadn't been enough light to read it by but, in a strange way, it had smelt faintly of Harry. It had been comforting. She snapped awake at the sound of the roar, a pool of light spilled onto her face from the grill in the door. Scrambling quickly she held the open album where she could read it best. The black and white pictures fixed to its pages stared out at her. The figures looked familiar but she was sure she'd never seen them before. She skimmed through more pages - it suddenly dawned on her, she was looking at Harry's parents.

A part of her wanted to close the book and put it away, it felt oddly wrong to glance over the careful entries - it was like picking apart Harry's life. But she ignored the feeling; in his present state he could hardly complain. As she read she began to understand a little more about him. The crushing loss he must feel every day of his life. She felt a pang of guilt for the way she treated her own parents. A rustling sound from the door broke her train of thought. Slowly a pair of glowing red lights lowered themselves to the grill.

"Harry?" She whispered as loud as she dared. The crimson eyes nodded slightly.

"What are you doing in my house?" asked a deadpan rasp.

"You? You don't remember me?" The eyes moved from side to side. She lifted the book to the grill gently. "What about her? Or him?" Harry stared past the picture of his mother and father. "Look at them." He seemed to be ignoring her. "Harry! Look at them." Despite herself she shuffled back a little, yelling at him was like yelling at a dangerous animal. Still he did nothing. "Harry…" She pleaded. For a split second she thought she saw his broken eyes flicker.

"Don't nag." He said quietly. "You always nag." Hermione gasped, he'd remembered a little - he must have done.

"How would you know?" She challenged, spurred on by the small victory.

"I don't remember" He insisted. She jerked the book in front of his face. His eyes flashed again.

"Who are they Harry? You know them… I'm sure you do."

"They're gone… dead… everyone's dead and gone… gone and dead. Accept for Abigail."

"What about you? Are you dead Harry?" She lowered the book and peered out at his face. His brows were furrowed in thought.

"Sometimes…" He muttered. "Only sometimes." He stood up and began to move away, head still bent and thinking. Hermione dived forwards and forced her hand through the bars scraping her knuckles in the process. She caught his shoulder as best she could.

"Wait." She tightened her grip dragging on him desperately.

"Why?"

He spun to face her in annoyance throwing off her arm.

"I want to know why you're dead."

"You wouldn't understand." From her prison she returned his glare, being stupefied was one thing but you did not tell Hermione Granger that there was something she didn't understand. "Everybody thinks Harry Potter will save the world but he doesn't have a world to save. Not anymore. It unravelled and twisted away into nothing… there's nobody left Hermione. And sure… they say that the good guys always win and love conquers all. But who's left to love me? What's so good about my life that it's worth saving?" Hermione knelt by the door and let his words wash over her. His voice began to fade and fail towards the end and she pitied him, honest to goodness pity. But she felt something else along with that pity.

"You're stronger than she thought… you're still there aren't you?" there was no reply but she didn't need one. Something was dawning on her. Why had Harry fallen under the creatures control to begin with? Unless… "You complete and utter bastard! You let her win! You gave up!" Repulsed she pulled her arm away from his kneeling body. "I came to rescue you because I thought that I loved you! I was stabbed through the chest because I thought I loved you! I went into Nocturn Alley and very nearly fell in with some maniac because I thought I loved you Harry Potter! And now what? You stand there and tell me that you've sold your soul away to this Abigail because nobody cares enough about you to give you a reason to save the world…" He slumped forward, head down, a picture of apathy. "Well here's your reason Harry Potter." She seethed; she was more than mad, more than furious. Angry because she still loved him. Angry because she had done all along. Angry because she couldn't take one more second of seeing him in such a state. Her pocket burst open in a cascade of bright lights, the rolled up glove opened out like a flower and shone like the sun. The gleaming radiance swelled with each beat of her heart, it began to pulse, getting stronger and stronger. The door rattled, then buckled and then exploded outwards with a mighty flash that momentarily bleached the colours around them into clear cut black and whites. Harry shot backwards and sprawled in a heap against the wall, slowly Hermione clambered to her feet, the glove was snugly wrapped around her hand although she didn't remember putting it on.

Harry's eyes snapped open; they were sharp green emeralds. He stood slowly and looked around with a puzzled horror across his face.

"Hermione… I'm sorry… I didn't mean it… I just wanted everything to stop… just for a second." His feet were unsteady as he crossed the few steps between them. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, gazing into her face as though searching for something. "Abigail she nearly killed you." He hugged her tighter, desperately reassuring himself of her presence. "And now…" He held her tighter still, and she leant against him, burying her face against his chest, exhausted.

"And now what?" Hermione mumbled, relief at his return sounding strong in her voice. But there was something more, something else that wasn't right. She looked up at Harry's face, the joy was fading fast. She felt his arms go limp against her body and then fall away.

"I…" He began… "I can't feel you anymore… it's like." He stepped away from her, horror seeping across his face.

"Like all the love is dropping out of you?" Hermione understood. His sacrifice, the few grains of his soul he had given up to save her, it was beginning to take effect. "We have to get it back Harry." He nodded galvanising himself against the world.

"We must…"


End file.
